


Five times Hank gets a system warning, One time the system goes on strike

by whitesail



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor is the Lieutenant, Fluff, Hank still has some temper, Human!Connor, M/M, a big sorry to cyberlife because making HK androids seems silly if not insane, android!hank, connor is a master when it comes to encouraging deviance, i honestly have no idea how this works out but here we are, poor Hank he has no idea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:30:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesail/pseuds/whitesail
Summary: "HK800-313 248 317-51?" The man sitting in front of the desk doesn't even bother to raise his head."Good afternoon, Lieutenant." the white-haired Android says. "My name is Hank. I'm the Android sent by Cyberlife."In which Hank learns human emotions, whether he wants them or not.





	Five times Hank gets a system warning, One time the system goes on strike

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start reading:  
1\. English is not my mother tongue, which means the work may have millions of mistakes. I'm always open to your corrections and suggestions!  
2\. This is likely to be a rather short work, so it must have problems in character building. I just can't wait to put the idea down.

**0\. The First Encounter**

#BLUFF

"HK800-313 248 317-51?" The man sitting in front of the desk doesn't even bother to raise his head.

"Good afternoon, Lieutenant." the white-haired Android says. "My name is Hank. I'm the Android sent by Cyberlife."

"You are three hours and fifteen minutes late." the Lieutenant says flatly, fingers typing away quickly on the keyboard. Line after line of words roll across the screen. He still refuses to spare Hank a glance.

"I have no excuse." Hank replies, with his hands crossed at the small of his back. He straightens and looks strictly ahead.

The human's fingers stop moving. His chair is pushed backwards with a slight screech as he stands up in one fluid motion.

Hank has already had all the information about Lieutenant Connor in his processor - at least everything he needs to know - his height (6''0'), his weight (stable), his health (positive), study experience, career, family life (almost zero data) and glories (plenty). Generally speaking, Lieutenant Connor is a typical workaholic. He has excellent grades, is nicknamed as "case-terminator", has perfect attendance record and even overtime-working record. Even Captain Fowler speaks highly of him.

Lieutenant Connor is a little shorter than Hank. He wears ironed black uniform and his hair was meticulously combed. In spite of the pair of gentle brown eyes that shine with youth, Hank's processor identifies this expressionless man as "dangerous".

"I am not enamored with people who are late, " says Lieutenant Connor in his characteristic voice, "let alone Androids."

Hank keeps his mouth shut and face neutral.

Lieutenant Connor narrows his eyes slightly and gives him a once-over. The Android keeps his gaze carefully level, allowing it to graze the top of the Lieutenant's head.

"We are about to become partners." Lieutenant Connor says slowly, "I hope we make nice cooperation."

"Without doubt, Lieutenant." answers Hank, staring at the wall behind the human insistently.

"Um, Lieutenant?" a police officer pokes out his head, "Sorry for interrupting, but here's a file that needs your inspection."

The Lieutenant steps back, eyes lingering on Hank for a moment.

"Alright. Thank you, Jim."

Jim stands beside Hank as they watch the Lieutenant walk away briskly, smiling and greeting other officers along the way.

"Hey buddy, don't worry yourself. Lieutenant Connor may seem quite cold at first, but in fact he is a really nice guy." Jim pats him on the shoulder. His expression shows 83.4% respect and 11.7% admiration. The 4.9% left is kind of hard to pinpoint. Preliminarily identified as affection.

"I think he likes you, you know."

The Android turns his head to look at him. "Why is that?"

Jim shrugs. "I don't know, pal. Just a feeling."

Hank gazes at him thoughtfully, LED circling yellow.

Humans. Such complicated creatures.

/

**1\. software instability x1**

#EMPATHY

"I love dogs." Connor says seriously.

Hank sits - or rather, slumps - on the sofa, eyes fixed on the basketball match playing on TV.

Jim was right. Lieutenant Connor is everything but cold. He is still young. He only acts cold and indifferent briefly to bluff. When he is at work, he is all formal and serious. But once he is rid of his uniform, the big boy he truly is jumps out. He listens to jazz and rock'n'roll. He plays guitar. He likes burgers and coke (but he won't ruin his diet), parties and animals. He likes to lie on the grass and look up at the sky. When raining, he likes to stare at the wet trails on the window left by falling raindrops and let his mind wander. He even smokes. Sometimes he drinks.

Hank can't help but wonder. How does Connor manage to juggle work and personal life so harmoniously when they are so different?

He begins to understand why every DPD officer loves their Lieutenant.

"I need assistance in dealing with these files, Hank. Maybe you can come to my home and give me a hand after work?" Connor rubs his head, which messes up his hair in an endearing way. He sighs with exhaustion. "I do envy you Androids. You never ever get tired."

"I have a lot more advantages you should envy, kid." Hank snorts, handing his yawning Lieutenant a cup of steaming coffee.

"Thanks." Connor mutters. He takes the cup and empties it in three big gulps.

(Well, maybe sometimes not_ that_ harmoniously, which is why Hank is now here, at Connor's home.)

Although he is informed in advance that Connor is the keeper of a large St. Bernard, the dog's enthusiasm comes as a surprise to him. The big bulk of weight with considerable velocity nearly knocks him off his feet.

"Hank, meet Sumo. Sumo, this is Hank." Connor introduces ceremonially.

The huge dog sits down and sticks out his tongue, puffing and wagging his tail.

Hank hesitantly says "Hi".

"Hank, can I ask you a question?"

"You just did. But proceed."

"Why are you designed this way?"

Hank frowns in confusion. _This way?_ He isn't sure what Connor means specifically. Perhaps he refers to his white hair, which is sort of long (pulled into a low pony tail behind his head), and a rather not-young appearance.

"I don't know." Hank answers honestly. He rubs his stubble, then catches a lock of hair between his fingers to observe closely. "It is possible that my creators believe this appearance is intimidating."

"Negative." Connor replies immediately. "It is actually lovely, as far as I'm concerned."

Hank has to take three whole seconds to process that. (His LED is circling red.)

"I don't think..."

Connor cuts him off by hugging Sumo to his chest and waving his two front paws at him. "You are Sumo-level cute!"

The corner of Hank's mouth twitches, which is usually the sign of a smile. But he is not programmed to smile when it isn't required by a mission.

"I found Sumo on a rainy day." says Connor. "He was badly hurt, lying in mud and bleeding. It was a miracle that he made it. He stayed in the hospital for one whole month. I had been so worried. He is such a good dog. I don't understand why people treated him like that. Why they abused him and then abandoned him." For one second Connor seems "angry", but then he buries his nose into Sumo's soft fur, and resumes his calmness when he looks up again.

Sumo barks merrily and wags his tail, blinking his warm brown eyes that are very much similar to his owner's.

Hank's processor sends out a string of unfamiliar signals that has never been triggered before, filling Hank with a strange sensation, as if there is a tightening band across his chest and is squeezing his components inside. He slides onto the floor before he can stop himself, and kneels down to pat Sumo on the head. Sumo raises his nose and nudges a cool trail on his palm, red tongue licking his thumb hot and wet. Hank feels "warmth"... and "sympathy".

"Good dog." he whispers.

He notices Connor's intent stare.

"Hank." Connor calls in a low voice.

Hank raises his head at the sound. Connor is smiling. His eyes shine like they hold actual stars.

"Hank, if that's not 'empathy', I don't know what it is."


End file.
